


Tamahagane

by Leyenn



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bloodplay, Collars, Competence Kink, Consensual BDSM relationship, Daniel just needs to be loved and also hurt a little bit, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kink Negotiation, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Knifeplay, Metaphorical titles are the best titles, Mild Blood, Mild Painplay, Multi, OT3, Painplay, Polyamory, Polyandry, Restraints, Run-On Sentences, Safeword Use, Swearing, Threesome, Threesome – F/M/M, run on sentences for days, this is serious kink how are they still so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: Tamahagane: 'precious steel', a rare, particularly strong type of Japanese steel, sometimes forged by a team of people, and used to create the best and most sought-after samurai weaponry.Prompt: knifeplay.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911157
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Tamahagane

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's knife (as is canon in the show) is a [Phrobis M9 Bayonet](http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Stargate_SG-1_-_Season_2#Phrobis_M9_bayonet).

It's Sam who notices first. He's not sure exactly what tips her off – whether it's the way his gaze lingers across the fire when there should be no reason to, or the way he takes a second longer to reply to her, or something else entirely that he hasn't even realised he's doing.

He's not sure _how_ she knows, but she knows.

She's the only one left in the locker room when he comes out of the showers, him in his bathrobe and Sam wrapped in the huge towel she prefers, scrubbing her hair dry with a smaller one. Her bare shoulders are still wet; as he watches, one fat droplet of water trickles slowly down the nape of her neck, and he doesn't think twice before stepping up behind her and catching it with his tongue. 

He licks slowly up the length of her neck and Sam hums, happily, tilting her head forward and looking up through her lashes in the mirror.

"Well, hi."

He leaves a kiss at the edge of her hair and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Hey."

Sam covers his hands with hers and leans back against him. "I'm glad you're still here, I had a question to ask you."

"Oh?"

"When we were talking last night." Her reflection looks him calmly in the eye, her fingertips playing idly over his wrist. "You seemed a little… preoccupied."

He doesn't blush, but his heart does jump against her back. "Yeah."

She arches an eyebrow, playful and curious. "I know Jack can be distracting, but it seemed like it was something a little more than that."

She's right, of course. Jack _fiddles_ with things more than anyone he's ever met, except – usually – when they're off-world. When he's in familiar territory, when everything around him is his, then nothing is safe from his wandering fingers, and they've both learned not to leave anything around their respective labs that can't safely be touched, moved or fondled. It's a habit that should be annoying but somewhere along the line became something endearing, even a comfort. Waking up in the infirmary to Jack messing up something in Janet's inventory is always a sign that everything's going to be okay… not to mention that a habit of _touching_ is a definite benefit in other ways. 

Off-world, though. It's rare enough that they have a quiet mission, even rarer that 'quiet' isn't dull enough to leave Jack pacing like a caged animal, but sometimes they hit the jackpot. The perfect combination of nice planet, nice people – including a gaggle of teenage boys who'd fallen over themselves to impress their illustrious team leader – a few mystery ruins that turned out to hold nothing of particular danger and even a little local naquadah into the bargain… By last night, Jack had actually been happy enough to start playing with one of the fallen branches that littered their campsite: spinning it between his palms, tossing it end over end, running his fingers back and forth.

And then he'd pulled out his knife, the blade flashing in the light of their fire, and Daniel had suddenly been unable to look away as Jack put the tip lightly against his chosen branch and started to whittle something into the bark. Almost idly, not because he wasn't paying attention, just because he's capable enough with even an indelicate weapon like that not to really need to think about it...

"Maybe a little more," he admits, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

Sam smiles, her voice soft and knowing. "Was it the knife, or what he was doing with it?"

He swallows. She's actually asking this, with that tone, clear as crystal that she knows _what_ she's asking. His throat feels hot around the words. "Both, I think."

"And that it was Jack doing it."

He chuckles. She didn't even make that a question. "You know the answer to that."

Sam's smile turns amused and she turns to face him, sliding one hand behind his back and the other up to the open collar of his robe. Her fingers dip into the hollow of his throat, the very lightest pressure, a flicker of something wicked in her eyes. He doesn't bother asking if she's going to tell Jack: just gives her a smile of his own, not sure if he's trying to look nervous or hopeful, and dips down to press his mouth to hers.

  


* * *

  


Even nice, quiet missions earn them downtime, so Daniel spends his Friday studying his tapes and photos of those mystery ruins in more detail, piecing together his initial mission report for the General and a more detailed dossier for the rest of the archaeology team. He finishes at what could even be considered a reasonable time, and an hour and half after leaving the mountain he's lazing on Jack's couch, his head in Sam's lap, when Jack walks in and very carefully places his knife on the coffee table.

No, he realises, almost instantly. That's not Jack's knife – at least, not his base issue. This blade is fullered and the grip is black, not camouflage-green, but Jack handles it the same way. Intentional. Competent. Confident. 

It sends a shiver down his spine, as he looks up into Jack's eyes. There's something calm and knowing there, and he realises not only is this a conversation they're going to have, it's one they were always going to have. They're too comfortable now, the three of them, to ignore something like this.

"Sam didn't actually have to tell me," Jack says, as an opener.

Daniel smiles. "No?"

"You're not that subtle." Jack nudges at his feet, shifting him over just enough to sit down. "So. You wanna talk it through now, or after I put your collar on?"

He takes a slow, even breath. "If you're asking whether I can be honest right now, not a problem. Whatever you want."

Jack flashes a grin. "Well then, talk, Doctor Jackson. What's the deal here?"

"You," he says, instantly, honestly, not even a thought. He touches Jack's hip, runs light fingers along his thigh without looking away from his eyes. "You with that knife in your hand, the way you handle it… _god_ , Jack. Did you do it on purpose, or do you just not know how hot that is?"

"I think he made you," Sam says, over his head to Jack, with a faint laugh in her voice. Jack's grin broadens.

"So I wondered. So sue me." He puts a hand gently on Daniel's stomach, fingers splayed just firm enough to be holding him down; not a restraint, just a reminder of control. "I know what I'm doing," he says, quietly. "If you want to try it. Just something light to start with. I'll be careful. Doesn't even have to leave a mark."

There's no point in trying to hide the way his heart is pounding at even the idea. "No." He swallows hard. "I mean. Yes." Clear, he needs to be very clear about this. "You can leave a mark, if you want to."

"Yeah?" Jack asks it softly, but there's a light in his eyes. "You're sure?"

"Yes," he says, chest tight. It's not even true fear: it's never fear. He couldn't be afraid of Jack if he tried, especially _this_ Jack, the man who would do anything for him, to him, with him, if he only asks. That doesn't mean he's not almost trembling with anticipation. " _Yes._ Definitely sure."

Sam runs her fingers through his hair, looking down at him; he smiles up at her, reaches up and touches her lips with his fingertips in a kiss.

"I won't cut you," Jack says. "Nothing hard enough to bleed. Won't even be anything for Fraiser to spot by Monday."

He chuckles, aware it probably sounds a little unsteady. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

"Where can I touch you?" Jack lifts the hand on his stomach to just fingertips, traces up to his chest, a stroke across his pectorals. "Here?"

He thinks about that blade against his skin, instead of Jack's fingers. He can practically feel it, sitting there on the table within arm's reach. "Yeah. That… that's good."

Jack smiles proudly, grazes a fingertip over one nipple through his t-shirt. "And here?"

That thought is slightly terrifying, in the best way. "If you want to."

Jack strokes down his bicep. "Here?" His forearm. "Here?" Waiting for his nod each time. Fingers jump from his wrist to his hip, across his belly. "Here?" Down the muscle of his leg, slipping to his inner thigh, and a knowing smile as his breath hitches. "How about here?"

"Yeah." He's practically breathless just from Jack's fingers, ghosting across his body, even through his clothes. "Yes. Please."

"You like that idea, huh?" Jack strokes back up, and Daniel can't quite contain the gasp at those light, patient fingers grazing his balls, his cock. "How about here, Daniel? Can I put my knife on you right here? Would that feel good?"

" _Jack…_ " 

"Yes or no, Daniel."

"Yes, _yes_ , _god_ yes." He can't keep from shivering, and he knows Jack doesn't want him to try. "You can put it wherever you want," he says, utterly honest. "I trust you. Anywhere you want."

"You'll have to stay really still," Sam reminds him. "Can you do that?"

He nods, a little desperately, but there's something heavy and calm blossoming inside him that's sure. "Yeah. If I can have a collar, I can do that."

Jack flashes that gorgeous, open smile that never fails to make his heart and stomach do somersaults. "Oh, you better believe it. I'll have everything ready when you get out of the shower, how does that sound?"

It sounds incredible. He's never sure how this is his life, how even his wildest dreams seem destined to come true. His insane theories turned out to be real, he's got a career everyone who ever ridiculed him would kill for; he's got Jack and Sam and maybe this should be insane, too, but they all fit together as perfectly as those theories always have. 

"Go take a shower, meet us in the bedroom." Jack kisses him, with that same smile. "You know the drill."

  


* * *

  


It's at least half his state of mind, but the bedroom looks different the moment he walks in; it always does. Jack can hardly risk keeping a room set up for kinky sex with his team, but that doesn't mean he's not resourceful, and that's without Sam's creative genius to help.

The main light is off but both lamps are on, only the bed brightly lit, and covered with a pair of dark towels he knows are going to be soft against his skin. The heating must be up a little, because it's warm enough that even freshly showered he's not cold. There's lube, water and chocolate on the nightstand, but now there's a first aid kit added, which makes his stomach flip over with nervousness and adoration. This is really happening, this could _hurt_ him, even though Jack's promised not to, and they're prepared for that. He'd expect nothing less, and yet seeing it is sweet enough to make his heart skip a beat.

On the edge of the bed, Jack's laid out his widest collar, dark red leather lined with black. It's wider in front than at the back, contoured to cover his whole throat, and the cuffs that match it are three inches of that same leather, subtly tapered to fit snugly around his wrists. Beside that there are a pair of ankle cuffs – that makes sense, makes him a little less nervous, that they're going to let him be completely restrained – and that knife, bright steel heavy enough that it's pressing into the sheets, the way it could press into his skin… 

And a blindfold.

 _Oh._

The only thing that keeps him on his feet, for a second, is Jack's voice in his head. _Think first, Daniel. I'll know if you don't, because I'll make you tell me._ That's the deal, always has been. Jack's all but given up on it in the field, but in here, where he's only got one choice to make, he has to consider his actions first. If he doesn't it's not just him who suffers for it, and he swore years ago he'll never do that to them.

It's a torturous, unbreakable promise, so he does. He thinks about being strapped down, tightly enough that he can't move at all, unable to see what's happening while Jack hovers over his naked skin with an equally naked blade in his hand…

There's a pillow that lives under this bed, ostensibly just a spare, never used except for nights like this. Right now it's in front of him, between his feet and the edge of the bed: an open question. It's comfortable and familiar under his knees as he goes down, eyes closing, resting both hands in his lap, taking a slow breath in and out. 

They don't make him wait long. Time goes a little fuzzy when he's hovering on this edge, but he knows it's no more than a minute, maybe two, before Jack's long, warm fingers bury themselves in his hair.

"Everything okay, then?"

He nods, against that grip, stealing that little shock of painful pleasure from the tug on his scalp. Jack chuckles – and yanks his head back, dragging a moan from his throat and swallowing it in a deep, dirty kiss.

"That's cheating, Daniel," Jack murmurs into his mouth, still holding his head back. He swallows, feels it all the way down his throat.

"I know. Sorry."

Jack chuckles again, that warm, dark sound that's nothing except thrilling. "No, you're not. But you can have that one." Those fingers relax, but slowly, pushing a little until his chin is level again. "Sam's taking a shower," Jack says, reaching over his head for the collar on the bed above him. "She's thinking about you, right now. How you look all tied down for us. The noises you're going to make when I put my knife on you. What you'll look like, if I scratch just hard enough..."

"Oh, god." Jack doesn't even need a knife to cut him open, get inside him. 

"Want to be all ready for her when she's done?"

" _Yes_." He's half desperate anyway and he'd do anything for Sam, and Jack knows it because he feels just the same. 

He can hear Jack's happy grin. "Good, because that's how I want you. Keep your head up," and leather presses against his throat, wraps around, goes just tight enough at the sound of Jack fastening it behind him. "How's that?"

He swallows, experimentally this time. Takes a deep breath, then a quick, sharp one, testing even though he can feel it's right already, can feel that liquid relaxation flowing through him. "Mmm. That's good."

Jack rounds his side to perch on the bed in front of him. A finger tips his chin up, for him to see that Jack's already naked, too, but for his watch and a tender little smile. "You know why I picked this one?" His fingers trace the front of the collar, from one edge to the other. "I want you to remember you're safe. I'm not going anywhere near here. Or here," as he lifts both of Daniel's hands up, touches both thumbs to the inside of Daniel's wrists. "I want you to not even think about that. I want you to remember we'll keep you safe, no matter what. Can you do that?"

"Yes." He says it without even needing to think, even as Jack's calmly putting the cuffs on his wrists. "I trust you."

 _That_ look, that light in Jack's eyes, that's as much a reason he loves this as anything else. He's never understood anyone who doesn't get this dynamic, who thinks being on his knees giving up everything like this might somehow make him weak. How can he not feel powerful when having him, just _having him_ ,can make a man like Jack O'Neill look like that?

"Up on the bed," Jack orders, keeping a hand under both of his to steady him. "On your back, hands above your head."

He's barely in position before Jack swings one leg over him, reaches up and hooks the cuffs securely to the top of the bed – and then he's trapped, not just by the cuffs but Jack straddling him, grinning down at him with both hands stroking his chest. 

"Look at you," Jack murmurs, bending down to press a kiss against his skin right below his collar, so hot he almost moans. "Gorgeous," another kiss, lower, Jack sliding down his body, and this time he does give up a moan at the drag of a half-hard cock against his own. "Mmm, that felt good, huh?"

"Yeah." He can't look away from Jack's face, from those dark eyes devouring him as Jack nudges his thighs apart, settles on the bed between his legs. 

"Imagine when it's my knife," Jack says, almost absently, closes one cuff around his ankle. 

It might sound like a turn of phrase, but when Jack says _imagine,_ like that, it's most definitely an order. Even if it weren't he'd be thinking about it, Jack holding the knife – will it just be the flat of the blade, or will he actually dare to put the edge there, or even the tip, will he just touch or will he press it in… __

__" _Fuck,_ " he breathes out, and Jack raises an eyebrow.

"Tell me," he says, voice gone gentle, hands around the other ankle. 

Daniel licks his lips. "Just imagining," he says, hoarsely, knowing Jack will get it. And he does.

"If you can handle everywhere else, then you can have that." 

_God._ He has to remind himself to breathe. "Really?"

"If it's what you want." Jack tucks both hands under his ass and tugs him down the bed a little, just as if he's straightening the sheets and not a naked body. A playful smirk flits onto his lips, fingernails digging into Daniel's cheeks. "If you like this, next time we'll try it the other way up, what d'you think? Put some nice red scratches on your back, all over your ass. Might even make you nice and sore for a few days?"

"Hell, yes." There's no way he's not going to like this. There's no way they're _not_ doing that. It's a cliché – something Jack, because he's an ass of the other kind, loves to remind him of – but there's something about that sensation when he sits down and feels the soreness of hot skin and bruises, that instant reminder of belonging to them. They don't get to play with that enough – it's risky, when he has a full pre- or post-mission physical every other week – but it's so, _so_ good when they do get the chance.

Jack's smirk turns into a triumphant grin. "Thought you might like that." He hooks the cuff on Daniel's left ankle to the bed, and then the right. "Okay, move a little. Make sure everything's comfortable."

He shifts as much as he can, not trying to get free but just testing how it feels. Jack knows how secure he wants to be held even when they're not playing with anything serious; whether it's his imagination or not, this feels even tighter, enough that he wouldn't be able to keep from relaxing into it if he wanted to. "Mmm… good," he remembers to say, after a moment, and gets Jack's snort of amusement as a reward.

"I could tell already." Jack runs a hand lightly up his leg. "Anything cramps up, you need a time out, just say. I'm not having you twitch while I'm holding a knife."

He nods, knows how to reply to that no-nonsense tone. "Yes, Jack."

Jack leans down over him and brushes a kiss onto his lips. "Good boy." He glances at his watch, and Daniel suddenly realises why he's still wearing it. "Well, well, two minutes to spare." Now Jack's eyes are glittering, flicking down to his mouth and back up, wicked and teasing. "You're all mine like this for two whole minutes. And that's if Sam doesn't get distracted." 

"May as well use me, then," he says, with his own wicked smile, and that's all it takes to get Jack's whole weight on him – broad, warm hands framing his face, hot mouth and tongue kissing him hard, and best of all Jack's chest and cock lined up to his own, rocking ever so slightly, pressing him down into the bed. It's just… _glorious._ All of it. He's utterly suspended without any control, entirely at Jack's mercy, every breath just hard enough to draw in, everything spinning together until he starts to feel like he's floating already.

Time is definitely fuzzy now: he's not sure if it's two minutes or two hours that Jack keeps kissing him, rocking and then rubbing and then _grinding_ down onto him, making those rough little noises into his mouth in between deliberately filthy-sounding whispers of, "Mmm, yeah, right there," and "God, you feel good…"

He doesn't know if he's begging to come or just begging Jack to keep going, keep using him exactly like this, but he's desperate enough to beg for something. "Oh god, _yes,_ come on, Jack…"

A low, hot laugh as Jack grinds harder down onto him. With his legs spread he can't even escape it, he doesn't want to, he's just there for the taking and Jack's taking everything he can – and then he's not, and Daniel doesn't even try not to groan with the frustration of it.

Jack looks down at him like the epitome of some wild trickster god, kneeling between his thighs with bright eyes and a brighter grin, cock hard enough to make Daniel's mouth long for it and one hand resting on that knife beside him on the bed.

"You didn't really think I'd let you come already, do you?"

"I don't want to," escapes his mouth before he thinks about it, but it's true. He's hard and he doesn't care, it aches and he likes it, wants it, needs to still have that feeling when Jack finally picks up the knife.

Jack looks at him, one eyebrow just raised, still grinning. "Really? Because that was some definite _wanting_ right there."

"I wanted you to come," he admits, honest and a little pleading, and _god_ , yes, that's exactly why he wanted it, that hot need and possessiveness in Jack's eyes. "I want to see you come just doing that, all over me."

Jack makes a strangled sound, right as Sam walks in: freshly showered, glowing and golden and magnificent, and laughing.

"Oh god, now what did he say?" She flashes a proud smile at him as she plants a knee on the bed, leaning over to Jack for a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "Mmm… must have been something good."

"There was a suggestion of coming all over him," Jack says, and he groans, lets his eyes fall closed and just hopes.

"I've heard worse ideas." He can hear the heat of arousal in her voice. "Just you, or both of us, do you think?"

"Oh, both of you." He intends to beg, and still it comes out more breathy and desperate than he means to. "Both of you, please..."

"Maybe if you're very good for us," Sam says, a playful promise. She's leaning close, he realises; opens his eyes and she's on the bed beside him, blue eyes full of joy and desire and mischief. "You're beautiful like this," she murmurs, as if she were just waiting for him to look at her, to be able to say it. "Feeling good?"

"Mmm." He smiles up at her. "Yeah… comfortable. Really good."

"I thought so." She brushes a quick kiss against his lips, and he tastes her smile in it. "Close your eyes," and he's no sooner obeyed than there's soft fabric on his eyelids, on the bridge of his nose and a band of pressure behind his head. Even with his eyes open again there's only darkness and Sam's voice, still close by. "Color, sweetheart?"

He shudders, pleasure running through him from head to toe at the sound of her like that. Sam's preferences switch much more fluidly than his or Jack's, and he loves her in every possible combination they can make, but she's _so perfect_ when she takes control like that. "Green," he tells her, easy. 

"And you're going to say, if it's not?"

He nods. "Yes, Sam."

He feels her, warm breath and clean-skin scent, the moment before she kisses him again, with a quiet, "Good boy," that sends another shiver of pleasure down his spine.

He's not really sure how he expects it to start, but the first, gentle kiss against his skin isn't a blade: it's Sam's mouth again, soft and warm and lingering in the dip of his right elbow. A light flick of her tongue, and then it's gone, but he can still feel her, close enough for her breath to ghost across his skin. He focuses on staying still, on waiting – _patience, Daniel, be patient –_

 __Another kiss lands on his shoulder, just as soft, and another; a light scrape of her teeth against his collarbone that makes him laugh, another a little harder that makes him moan her name. " _Sam…_ "

"Mmm?" She presses her mouth to his neck, and he can feel that faint hum through the warm leather. "Does that feel good?"

"We should just do this more often," he admits, and her soft laugh in his ear makes him warm all over. 

"I'd love to." She nips at his earlobe, kisses his cheek. "You're so good at this, Daniel." Her fingertips on his cheek, trailing down his jaw. "I love you, having you all relaxed like this, all tied down for us to do whatever we want."

"Whatever you want," he echoes, not sure if he's promising or pleading. "Anything you want."

Jack's voice is further away, still, and playful but with the same light, happy warmth as Sam's. "Anything, huh?" 

He nods, through the blindfold, and then Jack does something. It's so light he almost forgets, for a moment, what it is: the tip of Jack's knife slowly, so slowly, stroking down the inside of his left forearm. 

" _Oh_." The moment it's gone he can't feel it, it's so light. It can't have left a mark, a touch that delicate, and yet he feels like it _must_ have – it's a _knife,_ against his skin - 

The stroke up comes a second later, and this time it's sharper: like Jack's dragging a hypodermic across his skin, leaving a faint few seconds of heat behind and trapping his breath in his chest. "Oh my god…"

Sam kisses his temple, right above the blindfold. "How does it feel?"

" _Please,_ " he whispers, the first thing in his head, and she smiles, he can feel it.

"That good, huh?" 

"You're wondering if that left a mark," Jack says, from somewhere beside him, a playful note of amusement in the words. "Guess you'll have to wait and see, won't you?"

He shivers, and Jack clucks his tongue. "Keep still."

He drags in a breath. "Sorry, sorry." That line of heat is gone already, and he wants _more_. "Please, Jack…"

But it's not Jack who touches him: it's Sam, her mouth on him again, her tongue tasting the skin right above his nipple with a quiet hum of appreciation. He goes still, this time, breathes through the immediate need to try and move, to get that sweet, wicked mouth just a little lower…

"Good boy," Jack says approvingly, and the tip of that knife comes back, even sharper this time, so bright it must be marking him, it _must_ be. A swirl of heat across the left side of his chest, from his sternum in a slow, easy spiral across muscle, curving back to end so close to his nipple he wants to cry out with either need or fear, he doesn't even know which. He settles for a quiet moan, and gets a chuckle from Jack in reply.

"That what you want?"

He nods, desperate, his skin tingling with the intensity of it. "Yes, please…"

That sharp-needle sensation lands on his right forearm, curves out to avoid the inside of his elbow and then back inward, and he moans as Jack draws a slow, lazy sine wave up and down his bicep, the pressure rising and falling with each wave, like Jack's just testing his skin. It's a scratch, then a stroke, then so light it almost tickles, then scratching all over again…

"That's it," Sam murmurs in his ear, sounding pleased. He wonders if she's watching. Surely she's watching. "Do you like that?"

Jack reaches the top of his forearm, close to the leather, and moves smoothly over to the other arm. Daniel has to remember how to swallow. "Yes."

"So do I," Sam whispers, like a secret, bright and mischievous. "I was watching him too, the other day. He looks just like that, playing with his knife on you." She bites the shell of his ear playfully. "I like this view better, though."

There is no one in the world with a sexier mind than Samantha Carter. Daniel's sure of it. He could come just from having her whisper in his ear like that, never mind that Jack's trailing a fucking knife up and down his arms. " _God,_ Sam…"

Her little laugh is beautiful. "Want to tell me what it feels like?"

He wants to, he's just not sure there are words to describe this. "Sensitive," he gets out, with a gasp as Jack dares to dip the blade into the hollow of his elbow for just a moment. "Kind of… bright. Sharp, like… I don't know."

"Like a knife," Jack says, with a hint of amusement, and runs the tip of the blade right down his side from armpit to hip before taking it away entirely.

He moans, loud and wanton, because it's better than screaming already. Sam laughs again, somewhere a little further away again, like she knows the sound he really wants to make, and flicks her tongue over his right nipple. He clenches his fist, gasping - because it feels good, because she's licking, sucking gently, toying with him the way she loves to, but also because he's not that far gone not to have realised the pattern here. 

"Jack…?"

"Nice and still for me now," Jack says: confident, calm, and then the width of the blade _scrapes_ hard across his left nipple and the sound that escapes him is something raw, terrified, _needy_. It feels so good, a quick, hot rasp of metal on skin, only Jack's skill keeping it from doing any damage, and he'd swear his pulse just jumped a dozen beats.

"Oh yeah." That's true satisfaction in Jack's voice as the blade comes back the other way, turns into long smooth scrapes back and forth across his skin. Each stroke sends a spike of adrenaline through him when it passes across his nipple, catches and teases and then moves on, and then moves back…

Sam's mouth starts to travel downward, scattering kisses and licks down his torso; the knife sweeps wider to take her place, and the first stroke from one side of his chest to the other brings a sob out of him. 

"Shh," Jack murmurs, soothing, stops that long stroke – and he'd beg for more, but for _where_ it's stopped. Right against the side of his nipple, stiff and aching, and then Jack's thumb _presses_ just enough on the other side and he can feel it, the edge of the blade, he can _feel_ it, it would take nothing at all for it to cut into him, right _there_.

"Oh god, oh god…"

"Shhhh." Sam, now, her hands gently framing his ribs, steadying him. "Breathe in," she says, a gentle command. "You're safe, just breathe."

He's not sure he can, when he can feel _that_. He tries anyway, and it's shaky but it helps, unlocks the sudden terror he realises was taking hold in his chest.

"Good boy," Jack says, pulls Daniel's nipple up between his thumb and the blade, so slowly. "Look at you, what I could do to you…" 

He whines in his throat, desperate, held in that moment by just Jack's thumb, tugging, stretching… and then the blade scrapes the tip of his nipple and disappears, and he nearly comes from the relief of it. "Oh _fuck,_ fuck, _Jack…_ "

"Shh." Both of Jack's hands appear on his chest, stroking, calming. "You can move," he says, and it may as well have been an order directly to Daniel's body, the way he suddenly can't keep from shuddering and arching into their hands. Jack presses him down, just enough to help him hold it together, with a proud, "You did great," that makes him laugh.

"Really?" He feels like he's going to explode, and possibly float off the bed, possibly both at once. __

"You didn't move at all." Sam's hands stroke up to meet Jack's, and then she's touching his face, turning his head toward her. "Color check for me?"

He almost laughs. " _Neon_ green. That was…" He can't even describe it.

Sam laughs with him. "You're doing so well for us, we're so proud of you," she says, and the way she kisses him is most definitely a reward, slow and passionate as Jack just strokes him down with broad, gentle hands.

"That's it, just relax." For a man with a lethal blade within reach and the skills to use it, Jack's voice is light. His hands don't stop, but they do move lower, palms rubbing over Daniel's hips, a very clear message when he finally says, "Think you can take some more?"

He's not sure he can take it, but he does know he can't take stopping now. All he can say, all he can find to say is, " _Please_ ," but the way Jack chuckles tells him it's enough – that, and the flat of the blade that comes to rest across the top of his right thigh.

"I want to mark you," Jack says, low and intense. Daniel whines in his throat.

" _Fuck_ …" He'd let either of them do so much more than that, right now. More than that, he realises – he _wants_ more. "Can we…" He has to take a breath, to get it out. "Can we renegotiate this, for a second?"

The blade leaving his skin almost makes him moan, but Jack's other hand curls around his hip. "Sure. You want to take a time out?"

He shakes his head. "No, no, it's just…" He can hear his heart pounding. "You can do more. If you want to." His throat is hot, his skin feels over-sensitive just getting the words out, and he might actually be able to come just _talking_ about this. "Don't… if you don't want to, it's all right, but if it – if it bleeds, that's okay," and there, he's said it, it's out there.

The pause isn't long, but it's long enough; Jack's hand on him is all that keeps him from thinking. He doesn't have to be able to see to know they're talking, in that silence.

"It'll hurt," Jack says, after that long moment.

He concentrates on trying to breathe, and not thinking about the fact that they haven't said no. "I know." He knows them both too well to expect something like _I don't want to hurt you,_ but this is still… it's a crazy enough thing to ask inside his own head.

"Okay," Jack says, and something Daniel didn't even know was there, two minutes ago, goes still and pliant and amazed inside him.

Sam tilts his head back with light fingers under his chin and kisses him again, soft and slow and deep. "I love you," she whispers into his mouth; he can hear the smile wrapped around it. "We love you, Daniel. You can have anything you want, anything at all." Another kiss, softer, slower, deeper, her fingers in his hair holding him there for her to take, until she pulls back and puts her thumb to his lips. "You should see him right now, Daniel. He's going to make it so good for you." Her thumb drags playfully at his lower lip. "Keep still, now," and she's barely even said it before he feels the tip of the blade right below his hip.

He doesn't shiver: he can't, he has to stay still, but he wants to. _God_ , he wants to. The sensation is different, more intense – whether it's just the skin there, or Jack's figured out the technique, or his own mind expecting every light sweep of the blade to be the one that goes deeper, it doesn't matter. It's just _more_. The tip of the knife moves in long, easy strokes up and down his thigh, up into a smooth circle around his navel, down the other side and back: the first time, a touch so light it could be a fingertip, the second so sharp it stings and makes him moan. 

"Oh my god…" He feels like he's going to burst out of his skin, it's so good, so intense – and then Jack draws a stinging line low on his belly, so close to his cock that he gasps with the surge of adrenaline. "Oh, oh god, Jack…"

"Shh," is Jack's only answer, but there's a smile in it. "Shall we see how well you can keep still for me?"

"Oh god." He's not sure he remembers how to say anything else. There's a knife, Jack's knife, somewhere near his cock, and he's just asked Jack to make him _bleed…_

 __The scrape of the blade across his hip is almost a relief, for the barest of moments. Then it dips down, in a sweeping turn across his skin, scraping down his thigh like Jack's _shaving_ him, and in his head all he can see is how close that sharpened tip must be to his balls, how easily it could slip if he twitches even a breath…

He doesn't twitch, doesn't breathe. The blade reaches his knee, and the edge lifts away from his skin, leaves just that sharp point that Jack drags, agonisingly slow, up the soft skin of his inner thigh –

"Oh god, oh god oh god…" He doesn't know how he's not trembling, except that they've told him not to. He can't move, can't close his legs to get away, and that needle-point of sharpness is moving higher. "Oh god, don't, _oh god…_ "

"Don't?" Jack stops and swirls the blade back, down toward his knee again. "Don't what, Daniel?"

He tries to remember to breathe. _Don't hurt me,_ he thinks, but that's not true. That's not what he wants. _Don't put it there,_ but that's not true, either. He said anywhere, and he meant it. "Don't slip," he begs, in the end, too far gone not to give Jack the absolute truth. "God, please, do it but for the love of god don't slip."

Jack laughs, quiet and confident and understanding. "I won't." Another sweeping curve to travel back up his thigh, up and up, further this time, still slow, and he bites the inside of his cheek not to start panting, not to whine and squeal and pull away as Jack traces an unbroken line from one thigh, right across his perineum, to start down the other side.

" _Fuck,_ " he breathes out, head spinning with the adrenaline. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck…_ "

"Thought I'd get you to come, for a minute there," Jack says, drawing a swirl of heat just above his knee. "You're so ready, aren't you?"

"God, yes, please." He's beyond ready, he's almost afraid of how good it's going to be when it happens. 

"If I cut you," Jack says, and Daniel's pretty sure he starts floating right there, "is that going to make you come?"

"I don't know," he answers, beyond anything but honesty. "I don't – fuck, I don't know."

The blade scrapes a wide arc across the top of his thigh, and then it's gone – because it's in Jack's _voice,_ sharp and dangerous and beautiful. "Shall we find out?"

He can feel his heartbeat everywhere. "Yes," he gets out, hardly a whisper, rough and needy. "Please, Jack."

"Be sure, Daniel."

He can't help it, he sobs with the frustration, the _need_ for it. "I'm sure, I'm green, I swear, I'm sure, _please_ …"

"Shh, relax." The tip of the blade finds his skin again, that needle-sharpness, but this time there's a different pressure behind it and it's not scratching, it's not –

" _Ah,_ oh, god –" He sucks a breath in through his teeth, everything going a little vague. Jack's going so, so slow, drawing it out, a long thin line of real pain across the meat of his thigh. "That hurts," he whispers, almost a hiss, light-headed with it, and his own voice sounds strange, high and wondrous. Sam's hand is on his chest, over his heart; he tips his head back, blindly searching for her. "Sam, it _hurts…_ " 

"I know," she says, calmly, and he can hear her smiling, she's smiling at him while Jack cuts his skin open and makes him bleed because he _asked_ for it – it's too much to process when he can feel every inch of his own body and every atom of that blade, hot and sharp, cutting into him, and it's like he's being flayed open – 

The knife leaves his skin, leaves a throbbing trail behind, and his breath hitches; Jack swipes a thumb across that line of pain and he starts sobbing, tears spiking hot behind his eyes. That hurts all over again, a fresh pain of skin rubbing over cut skin, and there's a sticky-wet feeling that even his stuttering brain recognises as blood. His whole body feels over-sensitive, singing to the tune of Jack's knife, and he's so close to the edge he's trembling.

"Shh, let go." Sam threads her fingers into his hair, kisses his forehead, her other hand still warm on his chest. He can feel that smile, on her lips against his skin. "Let go, Daniel, we've got you." 

"Do that again." He's begging, he'll beg forever, whatever they want. "Please, I'm so close, Jack, I need it, _more_ , please, _please_ …"

"Do this?" A fingertip runs right down that burning line of skin, pressing down, rubbing just a little, and he keens, arching toward Jack's hand. It _hurts_ , not badly but intensely, sharp and hot and perfect. Jack did this, Jack gave him this, just because he asked, Jack who would give him anything…

The edge of the blade scrapes up the underside of his cock, and he _screams._

 __" _Jack!_ "

Even blindfold he can see Jack's grin. "That feel as good as you wanted?"

He shudders, he can't stop himself, with another soft, raw cry when the blade scrapes back down toward his balls. "Oh god, better – so much better –"

"You've been so good," Sam murmurs. "You get to come now," she says, as her hand leaves his chest and wraps around his cock, her fingers tight on even lightly-scraped skin making him cry and fuck up into her hand. 

Everything turns into sensation, all of it over-bright and disconnected. Jack's thumb, pressing along the length of the cut on his thigh, rubbing over it, making it sting and bleed and throb. Sam's hand stripping his cock, just the wrong side of gentle, tight and tugging. He's so close he's already flying – every second of it is just pushing him higher, building up something overwhelming inside him – 

The tip of the blade pricks at his balls, a sharp and terrifying point of pain, and another and another and another –

He falls, screaming and crying and coming, wrecked, soaring on feeling. The blindfold is soaked with tears and his throat is raw but he can't stop, caught in an orgasm so intense it hurts and so good because it _hurts_ , pain and pleasure all tangled together and pulsing through him, hot waves of it that just take him over. He's dragging on the restraints and fucking Sam's hand helplessly, slick and messy with his own come, panting for breath he can't find, every inch of him rigid with tension –

And then he breaks, the tension is gone and all that's left is _feeling this,_ and he's just sobbing with the pure _release_ of it, all of it. He feels raw everywhere, inside and out: taken apart and glowing, like he's still in pieces and just floating on this soft, beautiful feeling that's all that's left under his skin...

Someone's murmuring, he realises. Very close, sibilant and so gentle. "Shhh, shh, sweetheart, shh." Fingers on his cheeks, below the blindfold, stroking the tears away. "Shh, shh, now."

 _Sam,_ he thinks, hazily.

A different voice, and large, warm hands, gentle just the same, rubbing his calf, curling around his ankle. _Jack._ "You okay with him?"

"I've got him. Shh, I've got you, shhh, Jack's untying you, shhh."

Those hands at his wrists, lowering his arms, stroking him, kisses in his palms. A quiet chuckle. "I don't think he's listening."

A laugh in reply, just as quiet, a little softer. "I don't blame him. That was pretty crazy, even for us."

 _Sam_. Wherever he's floating she's there, somewhere very close, her voice and her scent and her hands. He turns his head toward her, tries to make his body move too and can't remember how – but it doesn't matter, because she's there, catching him as he comes down, close enough that he can feel her breath on his own lips.

"Shhh, sweetheart, we're here. You're done, you're done now," and his whole body _shakes_ , the moment she's said it, earning him a soft kiss. "You were perfect, Daniel, you were incredible."

"C' see," he whispers, hoarsely. She kisses his forehead, and he feels her thumb slip under the blindfold.

"It'll be bright for a second. Close your eyes." 

He manages to nod, and a moment later she's right. Even through his eyelids it's bright, hot and too much. His eyes sting, still full of tears; Sam pulls him close, kisses his closed eyelids, strokes his cheeks.

"Got it," Jack says, somewhere else close, even as Sam says;

"Shh, come here, sweetheart, it's okay, we'll turn the lights down." She wraps him up in her arms and tucks his head under her chin. "I've got you. Why don't you try and take some deep breaths for me, okay?" 

He nods, nuzzles into the warmth of her skin and tries to just breathe in time with her heartbeat. Four beats, in; four beats, out; steady and grounding. Sam threads her fingers into his hair, rubs slow, soothing circles on his temple with her thumb. Breathing helps, brings him back into his body a little, even if it doesn't want to cooperate. He can still feel the weight of the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, the collar snug around his throat, almost as comforting as the way she's holding him; he wants to say _thank you_ but he can't remember the shape of it in his mouth. 

He settles for her name instead, one of the two words he'll never forget. "Sam…?"

"I'm right here. Jack's right here, too," the answer to the question she knows he'll try for next. "He made the mess tonight, he gets clean up duty," she adds, teasing, and he manages a shaky laugh.

"'kay." He wants them both, but he can wait, as long as she doesn't let him go.

Sam slips a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. When he opens his eyes the lights are lower, and it's easier to try and focus.

"Are you okay?" It's not worry in her eyes, exactly, but he knows she won't relax until he can answer. 

He can't remember ever feeling this fragile after a scene; he feels ruined, shattered apart, but in the best way he can imagine. "Stings a bit," he mumbles, and Sam laughs.

"We'll take care of that. It wasn't too much?"

The right words aren't going to come back to him without at least twelve hours' sleep, but he tries anyway. "So much. But so good." _It was perfect, it was everything, I love you, I love both of you, it was incredible._ "Got what I wanted," he manages to add, makes his fingers work enough to touch her lips and make her smile. 

"Glad to hear it," Jack says, from behind him. Sam smiles over his shoulder and something warm passes near his hip.

"Jack's going to hold you while I clean you up," she says, that gentle tone of control that's always so soothing when he can't think, or doesn't want to. "Just lean back, we've got you."

"Come here," Jack adds, so tender, a warm hand on his shoulder gently pulling him back. He leans and Jack gathers him up, wraps those strong arms and legs around him and puts a warm, soft mouth against his shoulder. It's almost like being tied down, that same sense of security that makes his body relax without even needing to think. 

He feels more than hears the noise he makes when that warm cloth touches his thigh. Jack's arms tighten around him: not forcing him still, just holding him together. 

"Shh. I'll admit defeat on letting you sleep with dried come all over you, but blood is where I draw the line."

Sam laughs, dabs the cloth gently against his skin again, wiping the inside of his thigh. "All of this, and _that's_ still what grosses you out."

"That's because it's gross."

"Daniel likes it." She glances up at him, gives him that mischievous, conspiratorial smile.

"Daniel apparently likes it when I cut him," Jack retorts, but with a smile of his own in the words, pressing a kiss to Daniel's cheek.

"Really like it," he murmurs, a little sleepily. The cloth is warm and so is Jack, and everything feels comfortably heavy, dark and close. 

"Duly noted," Jack murmurs back, a hint of promise in it. "What's the verdict, Doctor Carter?" 

Sam makes a quiet, amused noise. "Shallow, nice and clean, but you knew that." She puts a hand on his chest. "I need to dress this, Daniel. Take a deep breath for me, okay? I'll be quick, and then you can go to sleep."

He's pretty sure he's going to sleep right now, but he nods anyway and breathes in. Sam can do whatever she wants. Sam will take care of him – 

The sting of her fingers on the cut makes him twitch, hiss quietly under his breath; with pain or pleasure, he's not sure any more. Jack pins him with a hand on his hip, a kiss behind his ear.

"Shh. Last time you have to keep still, I promise."

"Sam," he murmurs. It's her fingertips on him, not through a cloth but bare and stroking, leaving something cool and moist in their wake. "That feels good," he manages to say, not sure if it's a warning or a thank you, and realising it doesn't matter at all when she smiles up at him. 

"I know." The same way she said it, watching him as Jack cut into his skin. The same smile, except now he can see it: a smile made up of love and wonder and pride, all shining out at him from those bright blue eyes he could always drown in. 

He didn't even know he wanted this, a week ago. A day ago, an hour. And they've just given it to him, every time, everything he asked for, so easy and calm and caring. He's just begged them to make him bleed and it felt _good_ , and after it all they still treat him like this. As if he's something precious and incredible, strong enough to take anything they can give him, anything he wants.

"In the morning," Jack murmurs, into his ear, pulling the covers over them, "If you eat a decent breakfast and let Sam take care of that cut, I'm going to put you on the couch and come all over you, and I won't even make you shower until dinner."

Sam laughs, low and dirty, flicking the last lamp off. "As long as we're making plans, you know, I'm not so bad with a knife myself." She curls a hand behind his knee and props his sore thigh on top of hers. 

Anything he wants, everything, and it's all right here.

"I love you," he murmurs, into the dark. Jack kisses his neck, Sam his mouth, and it's perfect. 

  


* * *

  



End file.
